


Finally, I'll Just Miss You!

by loquaciousloser



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Applied Ships if you want them, Everyone is dealing with the fact that theyre going to die, I am an absolute monster, One Shot, Or if you squint, Other, dealing with death, hardcore angst, i am a monster, no ships, seriously angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15553608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquaciousloser/pseuds/loquaciousloser
Summary: Countries will be abolished tomorrow. For the first time, they breathe and realize this might be their last breath and they’ll never wake up again. They want to wake up, they want to go to sleep, the land will still be there when they’re gone. But they breathe, it won’t be the same- for once, they feel human.





	Finally, I'll Just Miss You!

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I love Hetalia. I'm a monster for writing this, I'm sorry.

Countries will be abolished tomorrow. For the first time, they breathe and realize this might be their last breath and they’ll never wake up again. They want to wake up, they want to go to sleep, the land will still be there when they’re gone. But they breathe, it won’t be the same- for once, they feel human. 

…

The three men sit at a dining table, sunlight streaming in through the windows. The ceiling light flickers above them, but no one gets up and turns it off. Their heads remain plastered to the kitchen table and they breathe again, silently eating the sausage and rice filling their plates. 

“I’m glad my last meal was yours, Ludwig.” Japan breaks the silence.

“We’re going to die.” Italy’s eyes are the dinner plates. 

Germany doesn’t say a word. 

…

“They don’t care about us ‘smaller, less-important’ countries. They’ll only care that pigs like America are gone.”

Cuba crosses his arms and glares at a tree across the lake. He stands barefoot in the mud, ankle deep in water and glances around at his companions.

“I’m a person too, you know. I’m a person who doesn’t want to leave but has to, and has regrets but can’t fix them now. And they won’t care, no one will remember.”

“Relax, enjoy yourself now.” Turkey sits down in the water, the sun reflecting off the water around him. “We all have some things we want to mend. So mend them now. Enjoy the view.”

Egypt watches from the shore, sometimes, the world is watching too.

…

France drives along the streets of Paris in a vintage black car- he’s the vintage black car, he feels, he’s vintage. His hands smoothly turn the wheel and he rolls his window down taking in the muggy summer air. The sunset bounces off the old architecture and the new town buildings and he is both; the car smoothly glides along the street.

He turns the radio knob for the fourth time- Je suis un homme- he can’t settle on a single station- Moi je tourne, on tourne en rond, en rond.

He remembers when he had to wait for music to play, the sound of a gramophone playing at random hours. It was simpler then, and full of more beauty, when those special moments of music happened.  
Now, on repeat, he felt the love was sucked out of that beauty- it’s on repeat, he’s on repeat as he rolls up his window.

He’ll miss the magic like that.

Maybe, when he’s gone, a gramophone will play every once in a while.

…

“I don’t understand hate. Do I hate you?”

“I spent my whole life in it, believe me, it wastes you. More than this even.”

America taps his finger against the beer mug and laughs, taking a swig and placing it down. The empty seats in the bar unnerves the two, though neither would say it, more than the flat screen broadcasting the end of nations. The newscaster has a fake smile; for once, they don’t. 

“I think I made friends hate me.”

“Who doesn’t?”

Russia ponders this for a moment before placing his drink down.

“Do you hate me?”

“Can’t really afford to anymore, can I? I just regret not having one last Coke.”

They both chuckle and clink their glasses, a car alarm sounding off in the parking lot behind them. They turn and look out the window, their eyes settling on the stars lighting up the night sky.  
Russia glances at America- they’ll be in space soon, and maybe ride a star, maybe even be one. 

America says softly, “I guess I’ll miss these times.”

Russia only nods, “Likewise.”

They drink their lives away and don’t wake up with a hangover in the morning. 

…

China is stopped by a reporter on his way home from the market. The man recognizes him as a personification and shoves a microphone in his face, expecting answers.

“Sir, sir! Mr. China, how do you feel about the motion to abolish countries? Does this mean the end for you? What is immortality like?”

“I’m too old to answer the same questions. I shouldn’t be here any longer. I just want to go home.” 

…

The three huddle around his piano playing, sitting on his plush couches and eating the Sachertorte from his refrigerator- for one of the few times, they listen intently, not missing a note. His eyes are closed, there is feeling in every note, his arms bounce up as he softly purses his lips and opens his eyes. Hungary looks at him softly and then at Switzerland, not allowing a moment of silence in between his songs.

“You know, as much as I hate to admit it, I miss Gilbert. It will be nice seeing him again.”

“Not hearing him.” Austria mumbles from the piano, rubbing his ears at the loud memory. 

“Don’t talk about it.” Switzerland snaps. He hugs Liechtenstein tighter, puffy tears streaming down her face. “She’s scare-“

“I’m okay, big bruder. As long as we’re together.” 

They all look down for a moment, a long moment, silence finally creeping into the room. Liechtenstein buries into her brother’s arms and he grips her tightly, never letting go. Hungary shuffles on the couch and looks at Austria; Austria looks at her.

“Any requests?” He smiles softly.

“…Moonlight Sonata. You used to always play that before going off to war.” She smiles back. “We’re going into battle now, aren’t we?”

His eyes close and they breathe.

People will play this song again tomorrow. 

…

England rummages through his closet and holds the picture close to his chest. It’s black and white like the keys to the piano playing at the same time; he glances at it again and it flutters to the floor. It’s of himself and Winston Churchill; the Prime Minister’s face etched in a frown but his own smiling, for once.

He’s smiling weakly, but it’s still a smile; bruises litter his face in the photograph and his arm is broken but his teeth are still there, showing. He flips it over, on the back, in faded pen, the cursive says “Don’t give up.” 

He falls to the ground, hundreds of photos surrounding him and he laughs through his puffy eyes.

He never gave up.

Even to the bitter end. 

…

Denmark shouts across the crowd and laughs at everyone’s confused reactions.  
“It’s not that I regret this time, it’s just I’ll miss you all so much!” 

...

“I don’t want to die, Mama.”

“We aren’t going to die. Just going somewhere else.”

Sealand clings to Finland’s arm with one hand and wipes his tears with the other. He thinks his tears are saltier and moving faster than the sea, but he doesn’t care at the moment. Sweden puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder and looks down.

“Then where are we going?” 

“Valhalla.” Sweden smiles slightly for once.

“Fólkvangr.” Finland corrects. 

Sealand cocks his head and looks up. “What’s that?”

Finland kneels down and places his hands on Sealand’s shoulder. “Valhalla is where warriors, the brave, go. There’s a golden tree and a hall whose ceiling goes on for miles…when you look up, you can barely see the gold glinting. Fólkvangr is a wide open field, the softer go there, it’s eternal peace.”

“Well I’m brave!” Sealand jumps, “…but the field sounds really nice too…There would be no sea though, I’d miss it.”

His thoughts trail off and his eyes welled up again, he looks down at his feet and back at Finland.

“I hate them, but I’ll miss the seagulls.”

The silent room dims more, Sweden wraps his arms around Sealand, warmly, and Finland joins too. For a moment, they fly like birds and Sealand breaks down in tears.

“We’ll fly together, won’t we?”

…

Romano looks at Spain and smiles.  
“Finally, some good company for the ride.”

…

The house is lit up with Christmas lights and the chimney puffs its little cigarettes on the blizzarding night. He glances at the weather outside, sipping his hot cocoa and turning up his electric fireplace. The noise of the news is blocking out his thoughts.

“Countries abolished: Pangea again.”

Canada reclines his chair and sips his hot cocoa again; it’s steaming up his glasses. 

He glances at Kuma and has a conversation:

“Everyone is going to die, aren’t they?”  
“Who are you?”  
“I’m Canada, but you’ll have to find a new owner after tonight.”  
“Who-“  
“I just regret that it’s the fireplace keeping me warm and not a hug.”

Suddenly, the bear jumps on the chair and snuggles on Canada. He’s warmer than the fireplace and Canada smiles for the very last Time.

“Canada.”

He smiles and closes his eyes.  
“I don’t regret a th-


End file.
